Wednesday, May 30, 2007

juice boxes

i was momentarily way-laid coming out of the subway this morning by a woman trying to shove a straw into her morning juice box.

it was a box of edensoy.

granted, that made me want to vomit, but then i thought some more about juice boxes in general [yes, i'm still stuck in this box theme].

why are juice boxes so bloody great?

i decided to debate this issue with myself, in my cubicle, instead of reading a cost report of something that's 4 pages long and full of numbers in very small print.

they're portable!
yes but so are sodas in a can. sodas in a can are not as fun as juice boxes but just as portable.

they're lined in a weird metallic paper!
canned beverages are contained in METAL.

they've got straws!
you can put a straw in just about anything, chief.

but they're little bendy straws! in a tiny plastic wrapper! sometimes the straws are red!
if this is what you need in life, i've got nothing for you, my friend.

they're pleasing to hold!
cans are more ergonomically sound for the human hand.

you can smush them!
i know where you went to college. you saw cans being crushed. in fists, on forheads, on balcony railings, give me a break.

but when you're drinking them, you can suck the air totally out so that they collapse! like capri-sun!
we're talking juice boxes here, not capri-sun. i would never argue with you regarding capri-sun. i'm no idjit.

often they're fruit punch flavored!
yes, yes they are often fruit punch flavored.

they remind me of my childhood!
which, some might argue, is not a plus.

you're stupid.
no, you're stupid.

and then i started thinking about brent's comment yesterday about how wine comes in a box. why do we look down on wine in a box? it's just a juice box for grownups! why is it ok for a woman to walk down 57th street drinking edensoy out of a box and not ok for someone to be drinking pinot grigio out of a box? granted, they'd have to get single-serve wine-in-a-boxes, but why don't they? perfect for picnics in central park! it's like a 6-pack of beer! but it's wine! in a box! with a straw!

it's too genius to ignore.

oh, shut up. you'd by it.
no i wouldn't.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

cube dwelling

so listen. it's hard to be in a cubicle. it's hard to live in new york city and go from your box of an apartment to your cubicle via the subway [a moving series of boxes].

no wonder so much of our vernacular has the term box in it:

boxed in
think outside of the box
boxcar betty
box your ears
boxing match

what's also interesting is that my cubicle is an odd greyish brownish color, which, according to wikipedia [which i am unsure that i should trust] is a color:

Box was identified by British scholars as an official color to be considered part of the color wheel or color spectrum. The color ranges from mild sage to burnt sienna. Many are adopting this color as a political thinking or "Thinking Outside the Box" in current presidential campaigns.

'bex,' you might say, 'are you going to make a point anytime soon?'

my answer is a forthright 'probably not.'

to be honest, i had a long flight with screaming children yesterday afternoon [why are there always screaming children on flights from florida?] and then 3 mojitos at a new cuban place on 10th street when i got home since my roommate was fighting with her boyfriend.

i know that this is considered bad, but alcohol does make things better.

not everything.

but many things.

for instance, being in this cubicle might be considerably more fun if i were allowed to drink alcohol within it. would i be as productive? that really calls into examination just how productive i am hopped up on iced coffees and cheese danishes from the deli down the street.

i'm not condoning alcoholism. i'm just saying: hemingway, fitzgerald, george tell me.

Monday, May 28, 2007

postcard #5

so you might, and rightly so, wonder "bex, if you love going home so much, why don't you just stay home?" because, dear mysterious reader [and little voice in my head], then it wouldn't be so fun to go home.

granted, my frequent flier miles are building up, and granted, since x and i broke up i've been heading home much more frequently, but i think that there's no other place like nsb to lick one's wounds.

have i been licking my wounds too much?

eh. maybe.

but you know what? i was with the man for 4 f'ing years. 4 f'ing years and he hasn't had the decency to email me back [i emailed and snail mailed him a birthday card] and let me remind you - it was his idea to break up. so it's not like he hates me because i'm evil and all sorts of terrible and i've ruined his manhood or anything. no, he still looks like the big bad boy who ditched the girl who was "holding him back" and oh...lord. i really am having a problem letting this go.

and i think i'm not supposed to be so open with the fact that i was pretty much dumped.

audrey and i ate way too much fried seafood because that's what we do and my grandmother took us to bells because that's what she does and then audrey and i went to the mall because it was literally 4000 degrees outside.

if you've never been to the volusia county mall, i can only tell you that you're missing out on some serious insight into the psyche of today's american teenager. granted, part of audrey and my love of going to the mall is the fact that we go by the speedway and the reason the speedway is so meaningful is because when audrey was 12 she swore that she would be married there during the daytona 500.

she did. i don't really remember when her love of the daytona 500 started, but it probably began as abruptly as it ended, so that i only remember that one day when she told me that my bridesmaid gown would have racing stripes on it and that the reception would feature slushees [cherry] and popcorn [cheddar flavored] and it all seemed very logical to me at the time and now that we look back on that neither one of us can remember what in god's name she was thinking.

because she's neither a fan of cherry slushees or cheddar flavored popcorn. i, though, am still a fan of a bridesmaid dress with racing stripes. though at audrey's elegant wedding, i wore a navy blue strapless gown and these beautiful earrings i bought myself at the union square holiday market the christmas before and she looked stunning and we all danced for about 4 hours to a wonderful wonderful band. that's the only wedding i've ever cried at.

anyway, i had a wonderful time at home but it's wonderful to be back here though stavros is acting like i'm the worst cat parent ever [i am] and has been shunning me for approximately 3 hours now. which might be disturbing were it not so funny.

now that my cubicle has been moved [well, the cubicle wasn't moved, i was moved to a new cubicle] and i am no longer in a direct foot traffic path, i think i'll be able to blog more effectively from the office. i'm also trying to teach myself html, remembering that w once told me that html was handy to have, especially since i've got a lovely 'eye' for design [oh what men will tell you when they're trying to get your pants off], and i think perhaps he was right.

sadly, though, kim and i no longer sit near each other, and she can't im me because her new manager is over-the-top-controlling and we have to meet in the bathroom for tryst-like gossip sessions.

honestly, when you think about it, the workplace in all its modern wonder and facist tendencies is forcing us to act like we're back in high school.

at least where i work. but i bet it's no different where you work.

Wednesday, May 9, 2007

an open letter to the sleazy man behind me at the deli

dear sleazy man,

just because you are wearing a suit and have your sunglasses on inside does not mean that i want you to stand alarmingly close to me while we are in line at the sandwich place at lunch time.

just because it is a gorgeous day and i am obviously sick from my death cold and thus buying a minestrone soup and apple juice does not mean that you can leer at me and slide so close to me that you might as well just jump into the back pocket of my pants and say in this horrifyingly wet voice "a little hot for soup, isn't it?" so that i fear that your spit is in my hair.

just because i said "oh, excuse me, please" as i tried to move away from the counter but barely could because you were attempting to claim my personal space as your own does not mean that you can put your hand on my arm as though to assist me in walking - something i do every day.

but DO note that i ground my heel into your shoe because you would not MOVE THE FRICK AWAY FROM ME when i tried to get my change from the cashier. MY SPACE IS NOT YOUR SPACE.

if you think i'm pretty, thank you. i appreciate that. i don't feel pretty because i have the death cold. which you now have all over you because you were in my personal bubble. enjoy it. i hope you two live happily ever after. however, if you wish to let me know that you find me attractive, why don't you do so in an acceptable manner. smile. say 'hello'. heck, say 'i think you're pretty'. do not, i repeat, DO NOT stand so close to me! listen to the police. sting repeated that phrase about 62 times in that song. don't stand so close to me. you are skeevy. you are obviously a wanker. if i see you again, i'm going to step onto your other foot with my heels and then push you in front of a bus.

you need help.

and i need a nap.

Tuesday, May 8, 2007

death cold

alright. apparently, i am terrible at timely and frequent blogging. but, in my defense, i am recovering from:


do you know what sucks more than having a cold? having a cold when the weather is finally nice enough to be outside and enjoying the sunshine. i lay out on the fire escape one day, propped up against the wall with our central park blanket and a box of kleenex and a hefty dose of dayquil. which, by the way, makes me unable to focus my eyes. the office culture for the job is such that they're pretty adamant about germs NOT being in the office, so it's really frowned upon for me to come in with a cold spewing germs around. which is nice. it's actually one of the only nice things about that place. so i managed to stay home and be ill. i'll probably make it back in tomorrow.

my roommate, bless her soul, is such a train wreck usually, but was super sweet and mothering. i think she just needs someone to need her. granted, some have suggested getting her her own pet, but i fear for the poor thing's life. she can barely remember that i have a cat.

but she brought me matzo ball soup, and there was always juice in the house, and the one night she came home drunk with some dude from some bar, she did come in and check on me while i was deliriously watching grosse point on my laptop. [you need to check out that show. the show, not the movie with john cusack. seriously. it's got some delightful moments. now, i'm not saying it's a freaks and geeks or even undeclared sort of situation, but do check it out. you'll thank me for it. unless you're my brother. and you moan the entire time and then hit me with a pillow until i have marks on my face.]

she's sweet, honestly. but i worry for her. granted, i'm 8 years older than she is, so much of the idiotic stuff she does makes me cringe for reasons beyond that it's idiotic cringe-worthy stuff. reasons like 'dear lord. was i like that when i was her age?' and 'jesus, mary and joseph. please tell me this is vastly different than when i was so drunk i fell down.'

we've all done stupid stuff, am i right? we've all gotten blind drunk, made out with someone we shouldn't have, or slept with someone we normally wouldn't have, or yelled things at a cop when we should know better...but somehow, i feel the danger more in her actions. the fact that she brings home these guys that she's met, into our apartment. maybe i've watched too much law and order and csi. maybe times have changed. maybe i wasn't as out-of-control as she seems to be. but i feel like i need to have a talk with her. not an intervention, because, really, she is young and she's allowed to get a little crazy, but a sort of 'i feel uncomfortable that you bring random men home to our house. they could rob us or kill us or something. and if you're ok with those odds, great, but i'm not and i pay the rent too so if you wouldn't mind not doing this until you live alone, i'd really appreciate it.' it's an awkward situation, when it shouldn't be. i'm under the impression that standing up for myself shouldn't be a bad thing. especially when it's not out of line.

oh. tea's ready. and i'm trying out actifed today, and it's time for another dose.

in this age of 'my life is my life' and exertion of our rights, when and where do we draw the compromise line in the sand?

Tuesday, May 1, 2007

a postcard of a bloody tooth

so it's a little dramatic. but so, apparently, am i when i go to the dentist. my dentist, who in the past six months has transformed into a less-emo version of zach braff. imagine my surprise. i could have sworn he looked mildly like my cousin. who was in the military. and refuses to change haircuts.

in any case, i've been feeling some pain. in my left top molar. enough pain that i was continually pressing my jaw together to feel that pain. to, you know, test it out. see if i had a popcorn kernel stuck in there or my cavity was growing or the aliens had implanted another transmitter there.

apparently, i've broken all three of my fillings.

by grinding my teeth.

at night.

in my sleep.

my dentist said [and i am not paraphrasing here] 'you are grinding your teeth like a maniac! A MANIAC!'

so i had them fixed. refilled, if you will.

but first, he had to remove the old fillings. because due to my filling destruction during sleep, my cavities had expanded.

what's more uncomfortable than getting a filling in the first place? having the damned thing removed, then getting a NEW filling in its place. dentist numbed my face with something that smelled like watermelon jolly ranchers and tasted like rubbing alcohol. then i was injected with whatever it is that further numbs me. i've got to say, at this point, i was drooling and wondering if maybe i should just bonk my head on that giant ufo light so as to just pass out and miss all this fun.

the right side of my mouth fillings went smoothly. as smoothly as this all goes. i mean, i was in pain and my right knee started to do this weird twitchy dance, but other than that everything was peachy creamy.

my damned left top filling, though. first off, that side of my mouth didn't get as numb, or stay as numb or something because jesus mary and joseph when he went at my mouth with that drill i did an involuntary full-body twitch [i think i finally hit that pilates move where you're supposed to go from lying down to this 'v' position balanced on your butt] and yelped. i also, embarrassingly enough, started to cry. no sobs, but my eyes let loose a barrage of tears the likes of which i have not seen since, well, since thinking seriously about my ex.

anyway. my dentist immediately stopped and said 'oh, honey, i'm sorry, hold on, let me numb you up some more.' and shot my jaw with some more novocaine [dude, that stuff is hot when it goes into you] and actually WIPED AWAY MY TEARS FOR ME.

it was at this point that i fell in smit.

it took, no lie, i think 45 minutes for this sucker to get filled. and then this whole experience became very 'the secretary'-ish while he was checking my bite to make sure the fillings didn't stick out too much. i don't know how else to explain it but the situation became very intimate and nearly erotic.

i say nearly because:
1. i was delirious
2. this is my dentist, i'm getting fillings. he does this often. i've done this before. we're both dental appointment whores
3. my face is so numb that i'm pretty sure i look like a beluga whale. but better dressed.

this appointment started at 10 am, so i got to wander home touching my face gingerly and curiously. imagine my disappointment when i looked in the mirror and my face looked totally normal. i don't know what i wanted to look like - maybe one of those weird lion creatures from dark angel or something - but i looked normal. like me.

so i spent the day fading in and out of naps on the couch, drinking lukewarm tea and watching the trashiest tv i've ever watched.

the dentist, before i left, recommended i ask my doctor for valium. because of my teeth-grinding. i've got a mouth guard [read: retainer] that i don't wear because it's a retainer! i do not wish to be transported back to 7th grade! when i had a retainer! i'm 31 years old! there is nothing sexy about a retainer!

anyway, the valium. apparently i have a lot of anger/stress/anxiety/what-have-you. i process this in my sleep through grinding my teeth in my sleep. i had no idea i was still doing that. we all know i have anger issues. i have a lot of anger. who living in new york doesn't? no, really, i want to meet them. and punch them. because they're obviously not paying attention.

so i spoke with my shrink, once my lips felt normal and my tongue seemed under my control, and asked about valium. she thinks it's something to discuss. but, you see, that's why i have this blog. to sort of release some of my frustrations. to a forum. if i just wrote down everything in a journal, it doesn't work, because i'm the only person who reads it. i wasn't going to hand someone my journal and say 'hey, read this. i'm sort of cranky about a lot of stuff. it's all written down in this.' so this blog is so that i can make my observations blah blah blah.

my point here is: there is still anger and i am still grinding my teeth to the point of destruction!

i am impressed with myself, quite honestly.

impressed with that bill from dentist zach braff as well, let me tell you.

tonight, i'll be doing some yoga stretches and thinking good thoughts before i go to sleep.

i'll try to wear the mouth guard. i've been soaking it in listerine all evening. so, if nothing else, it'll get this lingering metal watermelon taste out of my mouth from the fillings.

if i break that thing with my teeth grinding, then i'm definitely getting valium. is that something i can buy from my teenage neighbor?